Buttercup is to be euthanized within the hour. We’ve had that sweet little girl for just a few weeks shy of sixteen years, which would make her approximately eighteen years old. Emmet made it to just two days shy of his seventeenth birthday. I’ll say this of my mother: she takes damned good care of her pets.
Ev and I said our goodbyes last night. He seems to be taking things considerably well. I think it helped to be upfront with him and just stick to the facts, rather sugarcoating the whole affair with fluffy euphamisms and/or mystical ramblings. It took my parents a good two years to finally admit that the evil preschooler-mauling chow-chow they’d buried in the backyard was actually dead instead of “just sleeping”. (I lived in terror of the day Mr. Sulu would return to finish me off. I swear, that creature had to have been half chow, half bear, and half pig. Chowbearpig.)
Bye-bye, Buttercup — my canine Power Puff Girl. I miss you already.